


Nothing But a Nightmare

by Reidemption (Charlie_Remington)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Dreams, Fallout fic, Gen, Hotch bonds with each of his team members, Hotch deals with the emotions of what happened in Mr. Scratch, M/M, Mr. Scratch - Freeform, Nightmares, Team Bonding, Team as Family, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6208945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_Remington/pseuds/Reidemption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your memory is a monster. It summons with will of his own. You think you have a memory, but it has you. -John Irving" --Aaron Hotchner "Mr. Scratch" 10.21<br/>--<br/>The show hasn't given us any indication of how Hotch has been dealing with the effects of being taken and drugged by Peter Lewis, despite having set up for a follow up. So, here's how Aaron Hotchner learned to fight the monsters in his memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But a Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> There is a very descriptive nightmare that deals with what Hotch saw while under the drugs Lewis gave him. In it, obviously the team dies. I didn't mark this as Main Character Death because they're not really dead, but the nightmare and some of Hotch's thoughts are very dark, just a heads up.

**“This is what happened.”**

_His limbs are heavy, too heavy to move. His head swivels on his neck as if moving through molasses. Slow and sticky, eyelids drooping against the effort keeping them open, distantly realizing this is what it was like to be drugged. He hears them._

_His team, entering the house, unknowing what lies inside. He hears a gun report, quickly, without a word spoken, knowing that meant it wasn’t one of his team that had discharged the shot._

_“Spence is down!”_

_The shout tripping down his spine, blood turning to ice. The image in his mind’s eye. The youngest on the team, going down, blood spraying against the wall, too quickly for him to even react. Too quickly for him to even make a sound. He wouldn’t have even been aware it had been him if JJ hadn’t said something, and somehow, that’s the worst part._

_Another gun shot, Morgan’s shout this time as Rossi goes down. He’s closer, it sounds less urgent. Potentially, he could make it out._

_Hotch’s own voice calls out to Morgan, telling where he is, leading Morgan to his own death. The blood thick and warm as it sprays against his face. He watches, as inches away from him, Morgan chokes on his own blood. If only he could move his arm, stand up to call for help. Before he can even try, a fourth shot, and the life drains from Morgan’s eyes. Blood pooling into the carpet, soaking into Hotch’s dress pants._

_“Now I know what scares you. You can move now,” the UnSub, Lewis, whispers to him, and he’s up and staggering to the kitchen._

_His hand covering Dave’s where it staunches the flow from his neck. “It’s okay, Dave. It’s okay,” he tries to reassure, his voice sounds choked. He holds his friend until his dying breath. At the last moment, Dave’s hand reaches up, gripping into his shirt, smearing blood all over the starched white of his oxford. His head dips, the feeling of tears wetting his face, wanting to cry out in anguish._

_He grabs Rossi’s gun and staggers away again, tripping slightly in his haste, not prepared for what is left to find. Through into the hallway. Reid is on the ground, facedown. Lewis is kneeling over Reid’s body. He has no moment to think, Hotch raises the gun and fires. As soon as the bullet impacts, the Unsub is gone, in his place is JJ, mouth open in horror, life fading from once bright blue eyes as she crumples._

_He is stained with blood, on his face, hands, soaking his clothes. His friends lie dead around him. The gun clatters to the ground._

_“They’re dead because of you.”_

He awakens to a dark room, gasping for breath, an aborted scream lodged in his throat. He thrashes for a moment in tangled sheets damp with sweat before he can stand and race for the bathroom, just in time. The lid clatters into the back of the toilet as he empties the contents of his stomach into the bowl. Heavy heaves, continuing until there’s nothing left but bile, stinging his throat and souring his mouth. His whole body clenching in pain, until finally the heaving ends. He spits, flushes the toilet and rests his face against the cool tiles on the floor. Eyes clenched shut as he’s wracked with shivers, cold sweat slicking his skin.

Time passes. He takes stock of every emotion and feeling. His clothing constricting around him and the sweaty mess of hair that he runs shaking hands through over and over. Time passes. Repeating over and over again that it isn’t real. And yet, overanalyzing every little bit of the dream again. Never able to truly understand, no matter how many times he works through it. He thinks of his team. Time passes. The meaning of Reid being the first, out of eyesight, not a sound other than a gun shot. Rossi being the next to be shot, but not the next to die. Morgan’s blood spraying him in the face. Still being able to feel the warmth of it as it drips down his cheek and into his eye. Holding Dave until he breathes his last breath and shooting JJ himself, believing her to be the enemy. Watching her crumple and fall on top of Reid. His family, dead. The only thing tethering him to life being the promise of seeing his son. Time passes.

His hand grips the counter and slowly he pulls himself to his feet. From here, the routine is always the same. He brushes his teeth, never looking in the mirror, not wanting to see the haunted look in his eyes. He changes his clothes and pads down the hallway, easing the door to his son’s room open. He watches over him for a few moments, drawing the blanket that had fallen on the floor over his son’s small shoulders. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Jack’s forehead and then leaves.

He starts the coffee pot, boots up his laptop, and works until the sun comes up. He showers, dresses for the office, has breakfast with Jack and then he goes to work. Mask firmly in place. Every other Saturday he has a session with a therapist. He’s coping…kind of.

* * *

 

“Have you reestablished your routine?”

“I drive Jack to school every day, go to work, go for a run whenever there isn’t a case, and have dinner with Jack and Jessica every evening.”

Scribbling of notes. “Good. And how about right before bed?”

“I read to Jack, go through the routine we set up and try to read a chapter from a novel.”

More scribbling. “And how have your relaxation techniques been coming?”

“They…could use some work.”

“You need to give your body time to process everything. This is not a suggestion, it is necessary for your recovery.” Dr. Stein leveled a firm look over her glasses at him.

He nodded, head feeling as if it were moved by a string manned by a puppeteer. Hollow, not his own movement.

“Have you been taking your sleeping pills?”

“Yes, but they make my nightmares more vivid. I’m shaky and I have trouble concentrating. And there are high instances of rebound insomnia,” he recounted all the side effects he’s experienced.

Dr. Stein made some more notes. “And how’s your support system?”

“I have Jessica and Jack. Dave stops by every now and again.”

“And have you been discussing the details with any of them?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Aaron, we’ve talked about this. You can’t keep pushing everyone away. This is in reference to your team. If you don’t let them in, this is never going to resolve itself. I’m sure they’re worried about you,” Dr. Stein said, trying to impress the importance of this.

He nodded again.

“Okay, you’ve reestablished your routine, this will help show that what happened isn’t going to stop you from living your life the way you want to,” Dr. Stein continued.

She had wanted to keep him off duty for a while, but Hotch had convinced her that if he stayed home he would have nothing to do but think about what had happened.

“But you need to actively work at resolving this. Connect with your team. You need to know that you aren’t going through this alone. You’ve mentioned feelings of helplessness, especially related to your team. So, what is something you can do to combat this? Normally I advise my clients to give blood or give back to their community, but your feelings are very localized,” Dr. Stein said, leaning forward slightly.

But, Hotch wasn’t really paying attention to her, he knew just the thing and was already planning how to go about it. When he came out of his head, she was still looking at him.

“Care to share, Aaron?” she asked politely.

“One of my team members just had her second child and she sounded really tired when she called me earlier this week, I think I’ll see if she wants a break,” he suggested.

 


End file.
